


Bondsman

by Pat_Jacquerie (Pat_Nussman)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: AU, F/M, Ficlet, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 21:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15203459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pat_Nussman/pseuds/Pat_Jacquerie
Summary: Excerpt from an AU where Avon is sold into slavery, and purchased by Anna Grant.





	Bondsman

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This is the first sex scene from a long, unfinished AU I started in, hmm, 1994, I believe, and which I hope to get back to someday. It's the beginning of my experiment with a more explicit style, though I'm still writing het here. In this alternate B7 universe, instead of sending political agitators and criminals to Cygnus Alpha, they (well, at least the attractive ones) are sold into sexual slavery. Also, Avon did not meet Anna prior to his attempted embezzlement, but afterward, when she buys him at a slave auction. The following is their first night together.

 

When Anna stepped into her private suite hours later, the words echoed in her mind. _"You might as well enjoy it ... "_

Automatically, her eyes scanned the cavernous space, searching for her purchase.

Her majordomo had put him in the bedroom, naturally, where he stood quietly a few meters from the bed, his bound hands before him. The hours had detracted nothing from his air of barely contained power; he looked like a panther calmly waiting for his prey to appear and transform itself into his dinner, rather than a slave waiting for commandments.

No one would know, she thought, if she failed to carry this through. Except... _he_ would know and a slave, subject to every Alpha's whim, could prove an untrustworthy confidant.

She's have to go through with this. No choice. Then she wondered how much of this was a lie she spoon-fed herself, a convenient excuse for what she in fact wanted to do. 

Truth or falsehood? Where was the border?

Forcing herself to seeming calmness, she crossed the room with even steps and seated herself on the edge of the huge bed, her fingers unconsciously smoothing and resmoothing the black velvet spread.

She looked up, biting her lip. His harsh masculine beauty had not decreased since the afternoon and she found again herself imaging him as some Roman centurion. The barbarians (was she the barbarian?) could chain him, but not one could touch that core of pure will that surrounded him like an impregnable force barrier. 

And there was more. There was that mind. As Agent Bartolomew, she could access files beyond the security codes of a mere overseer, and after a session in Central Records she knew this man had been everything he had claimed: a technological genius on his world, an Alpha among Alphas, a member of aristocracy of the intellect, if not of the blood. To use this will, this mind, this ( _"nice bit of nobility in chains"_ ) as a mere object seemed an obscenity. And yet...

"What is your wish?" Even in irony, his voice washed over her with the raw, warm taste she remembered from a few hours before.

"Avon..."

"You learned my name. Perhaps I should be flattered."

Belatedly, she remembered her role. "Perhaps you should." She held out her hand imperiously. "Come here." 

For a fraction of a second, apprehension flashed in his eyes, then was swiftly extinguished by a curtain of careful neutrality. He knew where he stood, knew his danger. Someone obviously had taught him, probably in a harsher school than she wished to contemplate. "As you wish." He approached the bed, ignoring her outstretched hand. 

Someone hadn't taught him well enough.

She let the hand drop. It would have to be the hard way, then. Her voice took on the edge of a snapped whip.

" _On. Your. **Knees**_ **."**

He hesitated for a long moment, almost too long, then set his lips with a visible effort and sank slowly to the floor, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. "As you wish," he repeated tonelessly. His eyes focused on the far wall, as if dismissing her very existence from his mind.

"Hold out your hands."

Wordlessly, he extended them and she ran a magnetic key over the silver cuffs. He raised a questioning eyebrow as the shackles fell to the thickly-carpeted floor. 

"They would be inconvenient," she explained, "while making love."

"Making _love._ " He put a wealth of disdain into the word.

"Call it what you like. As long as you do it." She smiled. "And do it well." Their gazes locked and a long moment of silence passed. Anticipation ran through her like a lambent fire, but still the time stretched and he did not move. "Are you waiting for something, Avon?"

"You must tell me what you want," his teeth gleamed briefly in the dimmed light, "mistress." 

"Oh," she smiled coldly. "That game will take you only so far... slave." She reached down to take his hand. It was strong and well-shaped, as elegant as all the rest of his aristocrat's body and she wanted very badly to have that hand touch her, in ways she could hardly think about coherently, much less articulate. "I expect you to use your imagination, Avon, not to mention that brain you're so proud of."

She moved his hand to her slight breast, half-exposed by her evening gown, then let her own hand fall from his. "Now it's up to you, Avon." Again, she met his gaze and held it. "Though I may give you a hint...now and then."

The mere suggestion of a smile touched his lips. "Gracious of you." His fingers moved slightly, as if testing her reaction. "I suppose I shall just have to do my best."

Abruptly, his hand plunged below the top of her gown, his thumb deliberately skimming her nipple. Her breath caught. "Very good, Avon. Very good, for a start." 

"Some women," the detached voice said, as if ignoring her praise, "are less sensitive there, but I judge you are not one of these. Am I right?" He took the nipple firmly between his thumb and forefinger and tugged.

She bit back something...an oath or an exclamation, she couldn't think which. A pulse of raw sensation stabbed through her body and she could already feel a tingling sensation between her legs. Hoarsely, she said: "Quite correct."

"Good." Avon eased the gown off her breasts, letting it pool about her waist. "It's always preferable to confirm one's hypothesis." He bent forward to take one nipple into the warmth of his mouth, scraping his teeth over the sensitive tip, then sucking in so hard that it almost--but not quite--escalated over the threshold of pain.

Instead, it pushed the envelope of pleasure too much, too fast. Anna's hands clenched over empty air. " _Ahh_." She didn't know whether it was a plea or a protest.

He drew back, but not with any haste. "My apologies," he murmured, but without the least trace of contrition in his voice. "Let us try again." He turned his attention to her other breast, but more slowly, more gently, flicking his tongue over the tip in a maddeningly regular rhythm, teasing but not quite fulfilling. 

After a moment, she groped for his hand and, finding it, guided the strong technician's fingers to the other breast. He found the nipple, tugging it gently between his fingers in an opposite cadence to that of his lips, tongue and teeth. 

This time, he took his time about escalating the rush of sensations. The initial gentle pressure became gradually less and less easy, more and more intense. _More... more..._ Her fingers curled into the velvet bedcover for purchase. _Please._ She didn't say it aloud...quite.

At last, he raised his head. His breathing may have been a trifle uneven, but he seemed otherwise unaffected. "What next, I wonder?"

Somehow, she kept her voice level. "I suggest you use your initiative."

"Ah, yes. My initiative." He sat back on his heels, surveying her. Despite her apparent superiority, she felt exposed, as if she were the one under orders. "I think next should be something slightly more...erotic. Ah, yes, how about... "

Anna caught her breath as the elegant hand slipped under the floor-length gown and brushed over her sandal-shod foot, dislodging the thin straps so that the footwear dropped to the floor. "We can dispense with that. And that." The other sandal dropped. 

Then his hand inched up the skirt with maddening slowness, maddening delicacy, fingers brushing ever so lightly against the sensitized skin of her inner calves. Avon leaned forward, as if for better balance, and she could feel his warm breath, smell the slightly musky tang rising from his skin. The fingers, clever fingers, traced small patterns on inner skin of her thigh, higher and higher. 

"Females of all the known worlds share one anatomical attribute." He spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "An attribute which once found, makes the male's function of arousing female--interest--more, shall we say, fruitful." His fingers found her flimsy silk briefs, hesitated but a second, then brushed the fabric aside, sliding unerringly to his target.

Anna uttered a sharp cry.

"Ah, yes. Here we are." His fingers insinuated themselves between folds of flesh, separating gently until he touched her most sensitive spot, and finding, stroked over it, once...twice...again. Involuntarily, her legs separated and she leaned back, her hands splayed back over the bed for support. She felt, she felt...

"Ahhh, don't stop." The men she knew tended to stop too early, with the most cursory of attentions, or were rough and vigorous too soon, which came to the same thing in the end. And she didn't want this to end. Not yet.

"No." That whisper again, that taste of raw cognac on the tongue. "I won't."

Perhaps it was just her illusion, born of a sense of control, but Avon seemed to have a delicacy of touch she'd seldom known, as if his experience with the inanimate tools of technology had transmuted into a knowledge of how to manipulate living instruments. His touch was firm and constant yet gentle, intensifying only as her hips thrust upward, as if seeking more contact with his caressing hand.

"I won't stop...mistress."

The harsh statement should have doused her with cold water, but instead she found herself aroused even more, levering herself into his hand to urge him on. "Just go on...more."

He went on.

Anna felt the harsh edges of reality receding as she began to ascend a steep slope of physical sensation. The stroking became rougher and more insistent, in concert with her rising desire. "More. More."

Then Avon spread his hand, pushing his small and ring fingers into her. She moaned and tilted her hips toward his invading hand. She knew just how damp she was there and somehow this knowledge, that would only have embarrassed her with Chesku or her few, safe Federation lovers, excited her even more. 

"I appear to be adequate to my task," he said softly.

She grimaced. "Just--"

"Get on with it?" A trace of humor ran through his voice. "Very well. But first, I suggest we rid you of your encumbrances." He tugged at the fabric bunched around her waist, and she lifted her hips so he could remove the dress completely, leaving her clad only in silk briefs. "And these." The last garment was stripped aside.

He balanced back on his heels once more. 

"An interesting view. But it could be even more fascinating." Taking her hips in his hands, he inched her forward on the crumpled black velvet until she balanced on the very edge of the bed, her legs splayed wide apart. She watched his intent face, beyond wondering about his next move, beyond thinking about anything except the next pulse of shattering sensation.

"Avon." She urged him toward she knew not what. 

"Yes." He leaned forward and only then could she guess his intention ...was he trying to prove who was truly the master here?

She attempted to resume control. "Avon." It was somewhere between a command and a plea.

"Yes," he repeated and leaned forward still further. Again, he gently separated the flesh surrounding her clitoris, then gently traced it with his tongue. His mouth felt so soft, so warm, so coaxing. He followed the shape of her clitoris at first softly, then again, more intently. And again...again ...

"Ahhh." It was exquisite, it was torture. "God, Avon...oh, God." 

"Yes." His voice was muffled, then silenced. He exerted a gentle suction, then more. Then...more... 

Anna's hips thrust forward spasmodically and she was forced to prop herself on her outstretched hands to keep her balance. She spread her legs wider, desperate to keep in contact with Avon's mouth, Avon's tongue. 

It felt so...

"Don't stop." Her breath came now in quick, harsh gasps. She couldn't conceal her state of arousal now...probably the velvet beneath her was soaked. Certainly, Avon's fingers slid into her easily, doubling the sensation elicited by his tongue and lips. She wanted more, she wanted...her lips lifted again, involuntarily. "Don't stop."

Avon's raised his head for a mere moment. "No." The dark eyes looked glazed and the expressionless mask had slipped.

Then all Anna saw was the top of his dark head and all she could feel was his tongue brushing and teasing her soft flesh, along with the discordant clamor of all of her nerve endings, screaming for release. 

Long minutes passed, exquisite minutes, then she heard herself murmuring, over and over, "Avon, I want you. Avon, please. Avon, I want you." She couldn't stop herself, any more than she could stop her hips from writhing or her hands from clutching small, useless handfuls of velvet coverlet.

At last, he raised his head. "You have me," he said thickly.

She stared into his eyes and swallowed. "I want you inside of me."

"Yes." For the first time, he truly smiled. It was a flashing, unbelievable nova of a smile that half blinded her. "I believe that can be arranged."

Rising gracefully from his half-kneeling crouch, he stripped methodically, as if to prove he was still in control over his own emotions, if nothing else. The shoes were kicked to one side, followed by the black silk shirt and, finally, the trousers, until all that was left was the silvery metallic ring still encircling his neck, glittering against the pale skin. 

He saw her looking at the collar and put one hand to the cold metal. 

"Mistress." His tone was sardonic.

"Don't pretend to be indifferent." Her gaze went pointedly to the erection now clearly revealed. "The emperical evidence shows that to be a lie."

"Oh, I never claimed indifference." With a sudden shove, he tipped her backward onto the bed, falling on top of her with a shock of bare flesh against bare flesh. "After all, indifference would hardly become a good slave."

"Hardly."

He covered her lips with his own, forcing open her mouth and thrusting his tongue inside. He tasted of the spiced energy supplement the trainers fed the slaves, but even more strongly of herself. It was an erotic combination. After a moment, he withdrew a few millimeters, the lines of his face harsh in the dim light. "Is this what you want?" 

"Oh, yes. And more." Anna placed her hands on either side of his head, and pulled him roughly to her. They kissed as if fighting a battle, tongues dueling back and forth between their mouths. 

It wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough until she felt his body push into hers. And even then, she wanted more. 

She pulled back, as roughly as she'd pulled him to her. "Avon." 

"Your wish is my command." He rolled them over until she was on her back, both of them half on the bed, half off, legs hanging over empty space. Automatically, she flexed her legs apart, knees half up to allow a wider entrance. He was so close, she could feel him nudging the entrance to her, nudging but not thrusting in.

"Damn you." Mindlessly, she wrapped a leg around his narrow hips, trying to force him into position. 

"Your wish... " he repeated, and pushed into her, but only halfway. 

By now, Anna was so sensitized that it felt like the most exquisite of tortures. She heaved up against him, but half off the bed as she was, could get no purchase to lever herself up. "Now, Avon." She tried to make it sound like a command, but it came out plaintive, more like a plea. "Now."

"Your wish... " he repeated a third time, and thrust home.

She groaned and pushed up to meet him. He felt so good within her, full and hard, a foreign body that despite its essential strangeness--because of its essential strangeness--seemed to create a complex sense of completeness. 

He pulled partially back in a torturous application of the friction principle to flesh, an almost painful parting--until he thrust into her again with a smooth, long bump of hip against hip. She dug her nails into his back, into the skin of his buttocks, anything she could reach. Then he changed his angle of entrance slightly, so that the upper part of his penis rubbed her clitoris as he moved in, then out.

"Av... " He moved too slowly, too deliberately, except that she wanted him to move slowly, tantalizing her, as much as she wanted him to hurry to a mutual climax. She heard herself moaning wordlessly, helplessly, in a cadence to his thrusts, a litany of incoherent pleas. 

He had a hand between their bodies, his fingers brushing her breasts again, touching and tugging at her nipples as he thrust into her, now faster, now faster and harder yet. She wanted him closer, she wanted to be part of him, she wanted...she pulled harder at his back and hips, then wrapped both legs tightly around him, as if to absorb him into her skin. 

"Soon...soon." His voice was raw silk to her ears, smooth and harsh both together.

"Ahhh." She felt helpless, she couldn't talk, could only move to his preset rhythm. She was ascending, she was climbing, and she couldn't stop, didn't want to stop. "Ahhh."

Then she arrived. She felt her inner muscles spasm around Avon's hard flesh, heard a soft, incoherent scream escape her lips, and then...nothing. Nothing but pure sensation. Nothing but Avon driving into her again and again and yet again, then shaking, spasming himself as his own climax took him. 

Then nothing but blackness. Nothing but stillness. Nothing but a long, long shuddering, ecstatic silence. Then a man lying quiet and heavy and slightly damp in her arms. Stillness.

Stillness and peace. Peace like she'd never known.

*

It had to end, of course. 

Slowly, carefully, as if expecting a rebuke, Avon rolled out of bed, out of her arms, and stooped to pick up his clothes. What a lovely position, she thought. What a beautiful man. And hers...she had only to order and he would do whatever she wished.

And he did it so _damned_ well. 

It was a cynical, unlovely thought. But she was Federation, wasn't she, and used to such? It was if she strove to distance herself from the intensity of the experience with cynicism and unloveliness. Maybe so. 

Still, he did do it well, he _had_ done everything she'd wanted...and more than she'd imagined. Her skin burned at the memory...memories. 

She could give him a kind word, she supposed, but since he seemed to be expecting a reprimand... "Where are you going?"

He hesitated, his clothes a rumpled ball of black fabric in his hands, his face once more a mask. "If you don't need me... "

"Did I say that?" She injected a hint of steel into her voice. "You will follow _my_ commands, Avon. Not create your own. Now come here."

A beat of hesitation, then he approached the bed. "Yes?" His tone was carefully neutral.

She patted the crumpled sheet beside her. "You will sleep here with me. After all, I may need you later...during the night."

Another beat passed, then he nodded and, dropping the clothes to the floor, lowered himself stiffly to the mattress. He glanced at her swiftly, measuringly, as if gauging her mood, then closed his eyes. 

She reached out to brush the hair away from his forehead, surprising herself with the gesture. "Rest now." His eyelashes cast shadows against his pale skin, adding to the impression of exhaustion. "Rest."

And he must've been exhausted. For he fell asleep almost immediately, as few people--and definitely not a man like him--would have done in this strange place. He slept like a man felled by a rock, without moving, without the slightest sound except for a soft exhalation of breath. It was the deep sleep of a man mentally and physically tired beyond reason.

Anna drew the sheet up over his chest, to protect him from the slight chill of the cooling system, then covered herself as well. But she did not sleep. Instead, she watched him sleep, watched the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, watched the shadows of the shifting light slide over his skin. And wondered...

Wondered if at some point during this incredible night, she had become just as depraved as Servalan.

**Author's Note:**

> Archivist's note: Pat passed away in June 2001, and so far as I know never finished this novel. But if I find more of it, I will post it here to AO3, as I think she would have wanted.


End file.
